Recommence
by MilesAboveFantasy
Summary: Miles left for boarding school after the Snow Ball, breaking all ties with his past. Ten years later, he has to face his broken bonds as he returns home to see his father on his deathbed.
1. The State of Things I

_Part 1_

 **The State of Things I**

New York had been his home for the last ten years. It was a nice city, but nowhere near the world changing city that various sitcoms would like you to believe. It was over crowded and everything was well beyond the expense that it should be, but it was his home for the part of his life that he didn't want to forget.

His home these days was a small but cozy studio on the 32nd floor of some passably affluent New York apartment building. The space was meager, but never felt crowded as he rarely had guest. He kept it clean to make it homely, and the only messes he ever had were the scattered printouts of his writings and a pile of clothes that he was never sure was clean or dirty. As in any studio he could see his kitchen from his living room, and his living room also served as his bedroom. The only additional room in the house was a bathroom, and he enjoyed the occasional adventure down the hall to wash his clothes in a communal laundry room.

It was not quite home, but it served its owner well for its intended use as a place to sleep and work – which was mostly work these days as he didn't sleep much, if at all. He spent most nights as he was doing now: writing. So much writing as his finger typed furiously on the laptop that rested precariously on his knees, typing faster than his drug addled mind could form thoughts.

His head was a fog as he wrote. It wasn't a surprise really as he was rather high, and the alcohol coursing through his veins didn't help either. He was used to it though; being high out of his mind wasn't unusual when he was starting a new book.

Miles Hollingsworth III was a messed up individual, and he was very aware that all his problems stemmed back to around the time that he was eight years old. Not a day went by where he wasn't reminded about his bad home life despite growing up with his family's considerable wealth.

He hadn't seen his family since he left for boarding school in New York just under ten years ago; he could never convince himself that he had any reason to return. His family had betrayed him by inviting his father back into their home after they had finally gotten out from under his grasp. That's the line he always told himself, but the true pain was that he had committed a betrayal of his own towards his family. It may have been a betrayal even worse than the one against him, or at least that was the thought that so often kept him up at night.

He had left his family with his father. Before, Miles had always protected them in a way – if one could consider rebellion to be protection. And perhaps it was, as his father's wrath was always on him. Perhaps redirecting his father's attention to him didn't help his siblings get the love that they deserved, but at least it didn't leave them living the life of an eternal disappointment. He had always been the one to speak out and stand up to their father, but in his act of fleeing he had let his father win with his silence. And with that, Miles was wiped from existence.

Miles lived in New York now, had ever since boarding school, but he was close enough to Toronto to pick up the news on occasion. His name popped up in the internet tabloid often enough over the last ten years, but only ever as an absence. "Where is the eldest Hollingsworth child?" the headlines would read throughout his father's eight years as mayor of Toronto. It pleased Miles in a way that even in leaving he had left his father with a grand scandal, but it also hurt. None of his family had cared enough to visit him in the last ten years; although, perhaps he had only himself to blame as he had forcefully cut contact long ago. The last time that he had willingly spoken to his mother was when she agreed to pay for his college during his last semester of boarding school. Now he only spoke to her on the occasional holiday when he figured he owed it to her to pick up the phone at her incessant calls in honor of the special day – not as if he ever had anyone to spend them with. Their calls came to a swift end as she suggested passing the phone off to a family member. He was never willing to face the guilt.

But that guilt powered his thoughts – guilt at avoiding his mother and his siblings, but also for leaving them in the first place. His guilt was always turned to good use when he wrote. What they said was true. The dark emotions drove creativity: depression, guilt, anxiety, fear. Pseudo-psychobabble, true, but these emotions had driven his writing for as long as he could remember. It started back in Toronto, early in grade 11 during his short time at Degrassi. Through a few misplaced spurts of anger, his English Lit teacher had found an untapped source of creative energy. His teacher had faith in him in a way his father never had, and for a moment, Miles believed he had a future. His life went to hell and back immediately after that, and the rest was a blur, but writing did turn out to be his calling.

He graduated from college four years ago with a basic degree in Journalism. His day job was writing blogs about whatever nonsense he was asked to write about. He wasn't overly invested in it, but it paid the bills. His true love was creative writing. Fiction. Creating his own world to live in. And, with a pang of sadness, it always reminded him of Hunter and how he got lost in his gaming worlds.

His writing served him well enough, as he had published a few science fiction novels by tapping into his childhood fascination with Star Wars. Regret and longing for a time long past shot through him as he recalled his time with his friend Chewy – Winston really, though Chewy was the name imposed on him – where they would run around playing Star Wars at recess. It was one of his few good memories before he became his father's disappointing son. He squashed down memories of him and his siblings running through sprinklers or blowing out candles on a birthday cake; those always sent him on a downward spiral he was never sure he could recover from.

His phone buzzed, and he ignored it. It was 7 o'clock at night. It was his mother. It was always his mother. He had no close friends in town, and he did his best to let his hook-ups know that they were one time things (or, at the very least, that he would be the one to contact them). He preferred to be alone anyway, and hadn't felt like making friends or clubbing since an incident during his last year at college. His eyes crossed over the scars on his inner forearm at the memories.

The most social he got was hanging out with some coworkers or finding a hook-up on grindr – or, perhaps, OkCupid if he were looking for some semblance of conversation before fucking. It was a slow process, but he found himself increasingly less interested in women as he got older. Not for lack of sexual interest in them, but his sex drive had taken a nose dive in recent years. Drugs or age, who can tell? The main reason, though, was that only men could remind him of the one person that had made him truly happy. He once punched a 'friend' for calling it daddy issues; that friendship was now long over.

The phone rang again five minutes later, and he ignored it as he tried to put some semblance of meaning onto the first page of his new book. The first words were always the hardest part. But the phone rang again. And again, and again. He ignored it as he wracked his brain for the contents of the opening paragraph. Despite the struggle, writing really was a joy for him. He didn't need the money from his books as he made more than enough with his day job for a single man, but writing these sci-fi novels was his way of forgetting life. Exploring a different world in his head and putting it on paper was therapeutic. Perhaps that was why he loved Star Wars so much as a kid; he had wanted so much at one point to redeem his father and make him love him for who he was. But even Darth Vader was a better father than his.

And again, that line of thought reminded him of Hunter, and he felt sick to his stomach with guilt. Guilt. Always guilt for leaving his little brother alone to face his demons. Some nights the drugs and alcohol dulled the guilt, and others it took away his ability to hide from it. Tonight was one of the latter, and the phone kept ringing and wouldn't go away.

Miles huffed and closed his laptop as the words just weren't coming to him. There would be no avoiding his past this night. He picked up his phone to see that it was now 8 o'clock, and that he had missed 17 calls from his mother. A small spike of terror tore through him at what that meant. Something was wrong. His mother never called more than once. Years with his father made her accustomed to being sidelined by the men in her life.

His phone rang again, and he sighed as he answered it. Little things. Littles things made him better than his father.

"Mom?" he queried as the beeping stopped.

"Miles! Thank God you answered!" his mother cried,

Concern tugged at him as he heard her frantic voice, but he replied as close to monotone as he could manage. "Mom?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

"You need to come home right now," his mother pleaded.

"Mom… I'm not coming home. Not now, not ever. I'm… happy here," he said. It was as true a statement as he could make. If not happy, at least as happy as he was ever going to be.

"It's your father, he's…"

"Don't care," Miles stated dismissively, but something stopped him from hanging up the phone for once.

"He's in the hospital. He might not make it. Please come home, just once, for me," she begged. "I need you right now, Miles."

Miles heard the desperation in her voice, and fought the urge to yell at her. Where was she when he needed her all those years that his father had used him as a punching bag? He resisted the urge, if only barley. She had paid for him to get away. He owed her this much.

"I'll call work tomorrow and let you know when I can come," he agreed reluctantly, and then hung up. He couldn't deal with this right now. He fought the urge to down the whole bottle of pills on the armrest of his chair. But he was better than that these days. He had nearly overdosed three times now, and he wasn't going to repeat it. He popped open his laptop, and began to type, turning his despair into creativity.

Writing really was the only good thing he had ever done.

* * *

This story is primarily posted on a03. You can see chapter in advance there.


	2. The State of Things II

**The State of Things II**

Two days after the call from his mother, Miles arrived back in Toronto.

 _I can't believe I'm doing this,_ Miles thought to himself as he stepped off the plane. He had somehow managed to pull together a month of vacation to visit his family; two years of hard work at his job plus pleas about not having seen his family in ten years went a long way to convincing his superiors to give him the time off. His pleas surprised him, but he rolled with it. He felt both incredibly excited and utter dread at the thought of seeing his family. A small part of himself that he kept hidden inside had missed them, but the raging shadow of betrayal and guilt kept it hidden.

He called his mom the day before, and asked her to purchase the tickets and to send him a ride. Little jibes like this at his parents and their wealth always filled him with a petty joy. He didn't mind how spiteful it was; for most of his life, it had been his only way to strike at them.

Leaving for boarding school and never coming back had been the largest of his acts of rebellion. His mother's support of him leaving for boarding school was the best thing she had ever done as a parent; and, for that, he didn't hate her completely. He wouldn't want to see his father on his death bed otherwise - or maybe he would, but not for the reason that his mother would want.

He knew that she that she wanted his father and him to make up. She had always had the delusion that they would be a happy family if they would all just behave. It was this stupidity that had invited his father back into their home, and it was the result of that stupidity that had driven Miles away for good.

It was this selfish delusion that led to the ultimate collapse of their family, and caused her to lose her son. _And a grandson too_ , he thought to himself, with vague recollections of an internet tabloid that had caught his eye the senior year of college. He wasn't sure if it was true, and he would have called Frankie first thing if he hadn't ditched his old phone in the six years up to that point. His mother had never bothered to tell him, and it was too painful to ask. It was usually easier to never confront problems after all.

Miles grunted as he plucked his luggage from the conveyor belt. It was a suitcase and a backpack with enough clothes for a week – he sighed at the thought of having to wash them several times during this trip – and his laptop, phone charger, and a few books for light reading.

A flash of brown curls caught his eye across the room. Speak of the devil and she appears. It had always been that way with Frankie. The mere thought of her had always been enough to summon her across the house or any hallway in school.

She looked older now, but he would recognize her soft face and brown cascades of hair anywhere. It had been ten years. The fact was just hitting him as he felt his heart drop to his stomach, and he wanted nothing more than to fall to his knees and throw up. He had missed her more than he had ever known. He had missed a lot of things, and the sight of her in front of him was the visual representation of all the loneliness he had felt for the last ten years.

"Hey, Franks," he said in greeting as he drew near. Their eyes met, and they both took a deep breath. Miles couldn't even begin to imagine the look on his face, and Frankie's went through half of dozen emotions from happiness to anger to guilt.

Their bodies met, and they melded into their first hug in a decade.

"I missed you," Frankie said with her voice on the verge of tears, but face dry and devoid of tears.

"I missed you too. I didn't know how much I did until now. I… I…" Miles stammered, but wound up lost for words with all his energy devoted to keeping his breakfast down. Frankie's chuckle soothed his stomach.

"Don't say anything, you'll ruin the moment," Frankie attempted to jest. They both knew it wasn't a joke, as much as they wanted it to be.

"You're probably right," Miles responded as he enjoyed their embrace. "Say, ummm… do you want to get some lunch? Might help keep breakfast down if I eat something."

"Lunch," Frankie considered. "Lunch sounds good. Airsick?" she asked, frowning at Miles who was rubbing his stomach lightly.

"Not exactly," Miles replied. "Nerves. There's just a lot coming up."

Frankie could only nod in agreement. "A nice, simple lunch will be great for that."

They drove in mostly silence. What little conversation they had was managing to agree on where to eat. They chose a Mexican restaurant down near where the Dot used to be when they were kids – and it was still there, Miles noted with a hint of nostalgia, though he was hardly surprised given the stories he had heard about that café. He vaguely remembered that Frankie's pink-haired friend's family used to own this place. Lola's cantina, if he recalled correctly.

Frankie confirmed it as they sat down while telling him about all of her favorite meals here. "I come here quite often," Frankie shared. "I've loved it since high school. It's our go to spot whenever Lola and I hang out – she's really the only friend I still have from our time at Degrassi."

Miles nodded blankly. A part of him wanted to ask what had happened to Zoë, but another part was afraid to known. She was one of the few people who could rival him in the ability to fuck up their own life. Plus, he doubted Frankie would know. Their friendship was long dead by the time he left at the hands of Zoë's wild nude distribution scheme. Seriously, what the hell was she thinking?

Miles shook the thoughts of his old friend from his mind, which was hard to do as his first memory of this place was when he realized that Zoë wasn't as into him as he was her. "This place was quite nice. I always loved the enchiladas," Miles recalled out loud. "Though my last memories here weren't the best." More memories, this time of being high out of his mind on his first overdose, and nearly cracking his skull while trying to remove his penis from his pants.

"Ahh, I heard about that. As I recall, it involved you falling flat on your face while trying to show Tiny your dick? Never knew he was your type," Frankie joked.

Miles buried his face in his hands with shame. "Uggh, you heard about that? I barely remember it."

"Well... I had to ask Lola after you left. I needed figure out what went wrong during those last weeks."

Miles ignored that comment. It was not time to talk about his problems. This was supposed to be small talk and catch up. He expected many, many days of arguing with his family about issues - and he had the drugs to dull it out.

He was saved by their server arriving. "I'll take the enchiladas and a tea," he requested, while Frankie ordered the same.

"We'll get it faster that way," she explained and Miles nodded. His sister was always a smart one.

"How's Hunter?" Miles asked after a pause. It was a question that had been eating him up inside ever since he left, though he wouldn't let that fear show on his face.

"He's fine. Same old Hunter," Frankie answered. "He doesn't leave the house nearly enough. Probably still a virgin, but he seems happy."

"Did he ever tell you about the gun?" he asked carefully and deliberately.

"What gun?" Frankie's eyes narrowed with concern.

"Nothing," Miles replied, avoiding the subject as their drinks arrived.

Frankie groaned. "You can't just mention something and then not tell me. It's the rules!" Frankie argued, mostly serious.

"Look, don't tell him I told you this," Miles demanded. "I want to ask him about it first... how he was afterward. Before I left, I saw Hunter take a gun to that Snowball dance. I helped stop him from making a mistake he could never come back from."

Frankie dropped her drink which spilled all over the table and her black sundress. "You're lying. No, he would have told me."

"Shh, calm down," Miles shushed her, as a waiter came by and dried up the mess while nodding furiously to assure Frankie that he wasn't mad at her for her mess. "Look, if you never heard about it, it means nothing came of it," Miles stated as their waiter was leaving.

"You knew about it and you just left!" Frankie exclaimed in the loudest whisper she could muster.

Miles was silent for a moment. "Not a day goes by where it doesn't haunt me."

"You should have stayed."

"I know... but I had to leave. I almost killed myself back them. By overdosing."

Frankie just shook her head in despair. "What type of family were we - are we? How could all of this have happened and I not have any idea?"

Miles could only nod in concurrence. "I have a feeling we'll all be processing this as a family in the coming weeks. It's finally time."

Frankie nodded, then their food arrived. "So, back to small talk?" Miles suggested as he dug his fork into the enchiladas.

Frankie nodded, nervously eating her own food. He noticed now, though he never had in the past, that they all shared the same nervous habits when they were upset. They were slower, more cautious, less trusting of the world around them. Their father had really screwed them all up.

"So, ummm... how are all my friends? Well, ex-friends?" Miles asked.

"Winston is fine, I still see him on occasion."

Miles managed a wink at that.

Frankie huffed in response. "Not like that... well sometimes like that."

Miles laughed, before asking carefully, "Does he hate me?"

Frankie thought for a moment. "He's mad, but I don't think he could ever hate you. Did Mom ever tell you that he was the one on her phone half the time when she called you? During the early days?"

Miles blinked with shock. "I never knew."

"Well you did avoid all of us," Frankie retorted.

"True..." Miles acknowledged. "I'll have to contact him while I'm here. I can try one of those grand gestures things."

Frankie smirked at that. "I see you still haven't forgotten Tristan."

Miles' eye bore into hers as he spoke from the heart. "I could never forget Tristan."

Frankie smiled. "I miss the old days when the two of you were together. You were happy."

"I know," Miles said before a pause. "Have you heard about how he is doing since I left?"

"I don't keep in touch with him personally, though I do hear things about him from time to time. Facerange helps too. He does all the things you'd expect. Minor political activity, theater, etc. Typical Tristan things. He seems happy enough."

"I'm glad he's happy," Miles admitted. "How is everyone else?"

Frankie put on a mock surprised face. "You had other friends?"

Miles frowned. "I think? I'm not sure honestly... How's Maya?"

"Matlin?" She was silent for a moment, as if in deep thought. "I never knew her well, but she is doing well. She did a big favor for me a few years back, and she seems happy from what I see. She still shows up at The Dot and this cantina every now and then. She has a husband and a kid now," Frankie said, her voice trailing off mysteriously.

"I'm glad to hear she's happy. She deserves it. What was this big favor?"

"Secret," Frankie stated as she mimed sealing her lips.

"Ha, fine. Though I should point out it was you who said you can't mention something without explaining it," Miles joked.

"No fair," Frankie jested in return. She wouldn't budge, instead putting more food into her mouth.

"Fine, fine. Be that way. Who's the hubby?"

Frankie raised her eyebrow. "I'm not married?" she questioned in a confused tone of voice.

"Maya's," Miles corrected, shaking his head. His sister was usually more aware than that.

"Oh! I thought you thought that I was married," she explained sheepishly. "But, no. Maya married Drew Torres. You remember him right, he worked with our dad during the campaign."

Miles shrugged off annoyance at mention of his father's campaign. "Wow, Drew Torres and Maya Matlin. That's not something I saw coming."

"Jealous?" Frankie teased at his former relationship with Maya.

"Of Maya? Yeah, Drew was always pretty hot."

Frankie had to fight to keep from spitting her drink out. "That's not the comment I expected," she said through a giggle after swallowing. "So you're still into guys?"

"When was I ever not?" he asked. "I like who I like."

"I see. Though I will give it to you, Drew was attractive. He's 30 now though."

Miles laughed at the joke they had shared back when Drew worked with his father's aide. "Wasn't he always 30?"

Frankie laughed in return, then scraped what remained off her plate into her mouth. Miles eyed her, looking at his own half full plate. "You always could eat a lot," he teased.

Frankie scoffed. "No, you just need to eat more. You're all skin and bones Miles. Are you living healthy at all?"

"Probably not," Miles stated, as he flagged down their waiter. He attempted to pay for their meals, but Frankie stopped him. "Let me, it comes out of our parents' account this way," she said as she wagged a golden car in the space between them.

They shared a grin. Sometimes it was the simplest things that made siblings bond.


	3. The State of Things III

**The State of Things III**

Nostalgia hit him hard. It had been ten years since he had walked into the gates of his home. He rolled that word over his tongue. _Home._ It was odd. A word he hadn't used in a long time, but the feeling was self-evident. This place felt more like a home than anywhere else in his life despite any issues that he may have had in the past.

"You okay?" Frankie asked as she unlocked the front door.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Miles replied. "Was just thinking. I haven't been here in a long time."

"You can blame yourself for that," Frankie admonished stepping inside. "Oh, and new rule. Take your shoes off at the door or Mom will kill you."

Miles shook his head with an amused laugh as he followed Frankie's lead in kicking his shoes off and placing them beside the ottoman next to the front door. "So, where is everyone? I was kind of expecting Mom to be a little more excited."

"She's at the hospital with Dad, said she'll see you tonight. It's just you, me and Hunter tonight," Frankie replied over her shoulder as she led the way to the living room. "You can either spend time with us or go see which of your friends are still in town."

"I'd definitely prefer to catch up with my siblings," Miles stated with conviction as he surveyed the room. He had spent a lot of time in this room as it was the most rowdy room in the house when he was a kid. He smiled with fond memories of the TV where Frankie would watch movies with Winston, the couch where he always helped Hunter with his English homework, and the loveseat where he and Tristan often cuddled. His eye caught a nice bottle of wine on the coffee table as the only thing out of sort.

"So, what do you and Hunter get up to these days?" Miles asked as his eyes met his sister's.

"Hunter never leaves the house," Frankie said matter-of-factly as she took a seat on the sofa. "I'm usually busy with work or hanging out with my work friends."

Miles nodded. "What do you do for a job?"

"Different things. I jump around a lot, never really found my fit. Initially I was using our father's contacts to get jobs after college, but I've built up a reputation of my own now. Think of me as freelance."

"But what do you do exactly?" Miles queried.

"Marketing, fashion, writing," Frankie replied. "And you?"

"Writing. A lot of writing," Miles answered. "I work for a magazine, you know? Basic article stuff. Nothing fancy, just enough to keep me well off. It's surprisingly nice not to have everything money can buy at your fingertips."

Frankie nodded in agreement. "It was nice at college when I didn't have the presence of money around me; though, I suppose neither of us would be saying that if we didn't have such a large security blanket to fall back on."

"Perhaps," Miles concurred. "I have to admit, not being called "Money Bags" in ten years has been nice. No expectations, no one trying to be friends with you for your money. Having to solve your problems without money. It's been nice. Makes you a better person, I guess."

"Though I won't say no to this expensive wine," Frankie said, picking up the bottle of wine from the coffee table that Miles had noticed earlier.

Miles eyed it with a glint in his eyes. It had been a long time since he had stolen his father's expensive alcohol. He closed his eyes for a moment to savor the fond memories.

"Fine, I'll join you," Miles said after opening his eyes. "But we have to get Hunter involved."

"Good luck with that," Frankie taunted. Miles grinned in return; he was always up for a challenge.

It didn't surprise Miles that Hunter still had the same room he had when he was a kid. His younger brother had never liked change much, always preferring to eat the same food, drink the same drinks and as he got older play the same games. For Hunter it was that addicting MMO Realm of Doom. It wouldn't surprise him if Hunter still played it as it was still popular enough that even he had heard of it in passing. He still remembered when Hunter started playing that game when he was 12. His brother had always bragged about how elite he was and all the super bosses he had killed, not that it meant anything to Miles at the time.

Back then, the two of them could not be any more different. Hunter had already been the stay at home kid who lived day to day in seemingly the same way: school, game, eat, and then game again to block out the sounds of his father and his brother fighting.

Miles was the complete opposite as he lived every day in a new, wild, and different way which quickly earned him the ire of his father; or perhaps he acted that way due to that ire. It was always an issue of the chicken and the egg to Miles. Whoever started it was irrelevant, as he would end it.

Soon enough, it lead to Miles' first stint at boarding where the rift between the brothers had become too wide to cross. And after leaving his brother alone in his time of need during his second trip to boarding school, he didn't imagine that the void had closed in the slightest.

He was outside of Hunter's door and heard only the faintest of sounds from within the room. A fancy set of headphones most likely. Hunter had always worn those to escape from the world. Miles rapped his knuckles on the door and then waited. And waited. And waited, before knocking again, but harder this time to make sure he would get Hunter's attention through the noise that was likely blaring into his ears.

The door opened without warning and Hunter's ice-blue eyes met his eyes in a glare. "You could have just come in," his brother stated in his apathetic voice.

Hunter stepped aside to let him in, but Miles was stuck in place as he looked at his brother. Much like when he saw Frankie for the first time this morning at the airport, seeing his brother was a shock. He was older now and slightly taller though not near the height of Miles himself. He had put on a little weight, but not necessarily a large amount, just different from the frail boy that Miles had left behind. His face held about three days of stubble as well. Between the minor weight gain and the presence of facial hair, Miles didn't doubt that what Frankie said was true. Hunter was definitely a recluse that didn't leave the house much these days.

He broke his reverie to find Hunter looking at him like he was stupid. "Are you going to come in or something? I know you're going to want to talk so let's just get it over with," Hunter said gruffly.

Miles smiled despite the boredom in Hunter's voice. Hunter was willing to talk despite not having any real interest in doing so. That would have to do. It was probably more than he deserved.

"Come hang out with Frankie and me in the living room. We'll all catch up together," Miles suggested.

Hunter sighed and looked longingly at his computer. "Fine," he agreed, "Give me 15 minutes to wrap something up. I have raid in three hours though, so don't drag this out for a week."

Miles shook his head. Raid. It was a gaming term he vaguely recalled Hunter mentioning when he was a kid. His little brother was always so attached to his computer.

"Yeah, sounds good," Miles said instead. It wasn't his place to judge how Hunter spent his time; he had made more than enough mistakes when it came to passing the hours in his life. At least Hunter's pastime was harmless. Unlike his which would one day end his life.

He returned to the living room to find Frankie waiting patiently for them; well, not as patiently as it may seem as she was already sipping through a glass of wine. "Couldn't wait on your brothers?" Miles asked teasingly.

"Don't worry, I can easily go through this bottle alone. I won't be getting too drunk to catch up anytime soon."

Miles raised his eyebrow at that. Going through a bottle alone like it was nothing? A part of him was concerned, but that would have to wait until later. He couldn't barge in and expect to be able to start telling his siblings how to live their lives after he abandoned them. The other part of him relished in the competition.

"Sounds like a challenge," he chirped as he poured a glass of his own. Spying the third glass that Frankie had out, he poured some wine into that as well. Hunter was going to loosen up and talk to them at least a little if he had anything to say about it.

Frankie didn't back down from the challenge herself. "Drink-off between siblings?" She smirked as she waggled the glass in Miles' direction.

"This could be fun," Miles said. "Plus it should loosen Hunter up a bit. I assume he still doesn't exactly talk much about himself?"

"He doesn't do anything much except game," Frankie stated. There was no judgment in her tone of voice. "Good luck getting him to drink. In all these years he still hasn't gotten drunk with me."

"Ugh, please don't tell me he doesn't drink," Miles mocked a plea. "Can't be a Hollingsworth without drowning yourself in alcohol bought with _his_ money."

"Oh, he drinks on occasion. Just not enough to have… fun."

Miles took the hint. "Still no girlfriend for him?"

"Nah. I don't think he's even spoken to a girl since that weird red-haired girl. No, not Lola," she clarified.

Miles was quiet at that. Yael - or _Yah_ _'_ _elle_ as Hunter had insisted was the proper pronunciation. Another notch on his belt of guilt. Hunter had been too withdrawn in on himself after almost killing people that he never trusted himself around a girl again. Or anyone for that matter, if his life as recluse might indicate.

Frankie noticed as Miles got lost in his thoughts. "You okay?" she asked while she refilled her cup. Never let the glass go empty was another thing they had learn from their mother as children - though like so many things, it was through quiet observation rather than words. _Be quiet and make your father happy_ , their mother had often told them when they were growing up. Miles had been the first to break from that mold. Only now was he beginning to realize that she had been as affected by their father's control as her children.

"Hello?" Frankie asked again.

Miles shook his head from the reverie. "Sorry, was just lost in thought."

"Good. Was thinking you were a light-weight. I do want a challenge," she demanded haughtily, downing her second glass smoothly.

Miles couldn't break the smile from his face as he shook his head in mock-admonishment while he stared down at his nearly full first glass. "I think you might just win at this rate," he lamented.

Frankie grinned in return as she leaned toward the coffee table to pick up the bottle and pour a third glass. "There you are," she said with a smile as she noticed Hunter enter the room. "It's been months since we've had a drink together."

Hunter nodded stoically as he sat down. "I can't drink much, need to be sober for raiding at 7."

"You and your games," Frankie joked and handed him his glass.

Hunter took it with a nod. "We'll need to eat dinner too. This is my dinner break before raid."

Frankie just shook her head, and Miles interjected eagerly. "Pizza!"

The twins turned to him and Miles was reminded how similar they were as their ice-blue eyes asked the same. _The first bit of excitement you_ _'_ _ve shown us in over ten years and it's over pizza?_

"What?" Miles shrugged. "Getting drunk and eating pizza sounds like the life to me. Is that pizzeria still down near the Dot?"

"I guess I could do pizza," Hunter agreed.

Frankie nodded. "I'll ask our housekeeper to pick some up."

"Come on Franks," Miles said. "Don't send her out to do something we can do ourselves." As rich as they were as children, they never let that wealth go to their heads. Occasionally it would go _over_ their heads as they didn't realize 5000$ was a hefty birthday gift, but they did their best to never take advantage of their wealth.

"Don't think of it like that," Frankie said. "If I ask her to do this I can tell her to go home early and give her a nice tip with dad's money. And it's an opportunity for her to get pizza for her own family."

Miles thought for a moment. It seemed fair enough. The house did seem rather spotless at the moment anyway; though that was likely from his family's lack of using it as much as it was from cleaning it. He doubted anyone had sat in this room and chatted for months, if even then.

He vaguely overheard Frankie asking the housekeeper to pick up their food when he turned to Hunter to see his brother's eyes boring into him.

"So what's up, baby bro?" Miles asked.

"Nothing," Hunter replied. Always the taciturn. He shook his head to remove his bangs from his eyes as he took his first sip of the wine.

"Need a haircut I see," Miles pointed out. No reaction from Hunter at that comment. "So, when was the last time you left the house?"

Hunter glared at him at that. "Sometime last week."

Miles fought a grin at that. "And I thought I was a loner these days. Even I go to work a few days a week to meet up with co-workers and maybe a lunch or two with… uh… friends."

"I have all the friends I need online, Miles."

"Hey, I'm not judging. I prefer to spend most of my time alone these days. What do you say we go to the Mall sometime this week and get you a haircut and go look at some videogames."

Hunter sighed. "Fine… I do need a haircut, fucking sucks when it gets in the way during raiding. And we'll go to the computer store to look at parts. I buy all the games I want online these days."

Miles frowned for a moment. "Damn, I was hoping to get a look at the games that have come out recently. I haven't really played games since…" He didn't feel like finishing the sentence, and knew he didn't have to. That time was a scar for all of them. Ten years. It always came back to that time in their lives ten years ago.

Hunter nodded. "Sure, we'll go look at some noob games for you." There was no malice in his voice; in fact, there may have been something approaching friendly. And with that, the brothers has agreed to do something together for the first time in memory.


	4. The State of Things IV

_Two chapters were updated with this addition, so make sure to check out the previous._

* * *

 **The State of Things IV**

An hour later and the Hollingsworth siblings were staring longingly at the steaming pizza on the coffee table.

Miles was the first to go for it, and he savored the pizza as it hit his tongue. This pizza had always been his favorite and the pizzeria that it came from was where he often went when he needed time alone. The only other person who knew about it other than his siblings had been Tristan, as it had been one of their primary date spots - along with the back of his car. Nostalgia flooded him whenever he ate pizza of any kind that was similar in style to that of The Wild Pepperoni Pizzeria's. Thin crust, sweet red sauce, covered in parmesan and cooked just long enough to be soft yet crunchy. In New York, he often spent his weekends looking for new pizzerias to find solace in. But by sitting here, now, eating this pizza, he was instantly transported back to the happiest time of his life.

"What's that smile for?" Frankie asked. "I haven't seen you smile like that since…"

"Yeah," Miles replied. "It reminds me of Tristan."

Frankie smiled in return. Her drinking had slowed down, but she was easily three glasses ahead of Miles. Hunter wasn't even really in the competition. "Remember that time that the three of us plus Tristan went there?"

Miles nodded fondly at the memory. "That's when we were still happy." He looked at the twins and his heart clinched. "It was so nice being there with the people I cared about the most. Before I ruined things with him…"

"Don't say it like that," Frankie reprimanded. "Focus on the happy memories. It was the first time all of us had been together in a long time. It was the first time that Hunter met Tristan. I remember you being so happy that Hunter liked him."

Hunter scoffed at that.

Frankie glared. "Well, liked as much as Hunter likes anyone. And quiet Hunter. You were friends with him for a while during that summer."

A look of guilt crossed Hunter's face. "I think we all know how my friendships end," Hunter said quietly, taking a larger gulp of wine than he had the entire night.

"No," Frankie said coldly. "I don't think I do."

Hunter's eye shot to hers, and Miles knew that his brother saw fear in her eyes; fear not of him, but for him. "You told her?" he hissed at Miles.

Miles frowned as he finished chewing the pizza in his mouth. "No, not exactly. I asked her about it to see how you were. I thought you would have told her at some point in the last ten years."

"You're one to talk," Hunter mocked. "Who are you to complain about not talking in ten years? If you wanted to know, you had all that time to ask me. You could have stayed and helped me. You left me…" he got quiet, not wanting to show weakness and shoved pizza in his mouth.

"I…" Miles began. This conversation had arrived. He knew it would. He wanted it to. But he wasn't ready. "I… know that I did wrong but…"

He had left his brother. Being left was his greatest fear for himself yet he had inflicted it on another. He just wanted to shrink and become invisible to the world.

"Just drink more, both of you," Frankie ordered, the slur in her voice breaking him from his moment of self-pity. "You can't be mad when you're drunk!" she added cheerfully.

It shocked him that it was only now that he was recognizing her slur and he was reminded of the fear that had crossed his mind earlier. That Frankie was becoming an alcoholic like their mother to dull the world around her.

Hunter huffed in response to Frankie's demand, but acquiesced and downed his wine.

Every fiber of Miles' being wanted to do the same. But he wouldn't hide from his siblings behind drugs. That was reserved for his father. He would just chug some pills before bed later and pass out without having to torture himself with his thoughts. He put his drink on the coffee table back near the bottle; he was done for the night.

A moment of silence passed before Frankie broke it. "So, now that it's out there - tell me about the gun, Hunter."

"I'd rather not talk about it," he replied.

"Please, as twins. You have to tell me. This is too big to keep secret any longer," she stated as she leaned towards his direction.

Hunter laughed. "Like you'll remember it. You're drunk as fuck."

"Some excuse," Frankie replied coldly.

Miles spoke up. "Come on, Hunter. Tell her. She loves you. This secret can be just between the three of us. As it always should have been… I'm sorry for leaving you Hunter. I'm messed up. We're all messed up. We should have worked through our problems together."

The three of them looked at each other, recalling the times in their childhood when they were close. The times before their father drove them apart. After that the void between them became larger as they each had their own self-destructive habits to escape his abuse.

"Remember that day of the fire?" Miles continued, voice croaking and barely keeping his composure. He could cry later, but that didn't stop his eyes from watering. "When we all stood up against dad, then went and got this pizza together? That's one of the happiest memories I have. I'm sorry. For letting us fall apart."

"It's… not your fault. We had already let ourselves drift apart again before you left," Frankie said.

"Yeah… we all messed up." Hunter agreed.

Miles nodded. "Can we all agree? To work together and to fight our self-destructive habits?" The twins shared a tentative nod.

Miles looked at Hunter. "It's time that we talk about this. Can you tell Frankie? Tell us how you felt?"

Hunter nodded and spoke after a few moments. His voice ached and quivered with the weight of a decade of pain spilling forth. "I messed up everything. I turned everyone against me. I hated everything. I hated my life. I had no one. I was so angry. I just wanted to hurt them. Tristan for destroying my club. Maya for being a feminist bitch… not that I feel that way anymore," he said with a grimace before continuing. "My friends for betraying me. For not being willing to go all the way for what we cared for. I hurt Yael. I just wanted to kill them all. So I went to school with dad's gun. I tried to make up with her, one last chance to stop me from… to stop me. And then I went off to the student council room to get ready when the sirens sounded. Miles had called in the gun threat I guess."

Miles nodded. "I found your hit list. I was… concerned. I didn't want to believe it, but I had to be safe. You have always been so… uh… difficult at expressing your emotions. And when I couldn't find dad's gun I had to be better safe than sorry."

Hunter acknowledged that side of the story. Most of it was what he had already assumed. "I got stuck in a room with a bunch of people that Tristan had gathered for safety. They all looked at me. I was the odd one out. I wanted to shoot them all but I was too afraid. And then Tristan gave me his phone. Miles wanted to talk to me. He reminded me that I wasn't alone. He told me he loved me." He was quiet for a moment except for a gulp. "I'm going to be sick. I don't talk about myself like this."

Frankie put her hand on his. "It's a good thing. We love you."

"I'm an awful person," Hunter said, looking at his shaking hands. Miles heart ached for him. Remembering mistakes from your past was hard enough - but the thought of being willing to kill his classmates had to be worse.

"You're not," Frankie insisted, sitting next to him now and pulling him into a hug. "You didn't do it. You've not done anything like that since."

"Because I hide from people. I don't want to be around them. I don't want to hurt anyone," Hunter said in small voice almost as if he had regressed down to the freshly 15 year old boy that had almost done the unthinkable.

Miles put his hand on Hunter's shoulder. "I understand, Hunter. I hurt everyone I care about. That's… why I left. I hurt everyone."

"That's not true," Frankie said adamantly. "I love you two. Both of you."

Hunter and Miles shared a look. "We know."

Miles continued. "I understand Hunter. I was wrong though. I don't hurt everyone, I just allowed myself to think that. I hated myself… still do most days. I just want to be happy with those that I love. But I hate myself and convince myself that they'd be better off without me. Don't make the same mistakes I did. Not anymore."

"I…" Hunter began. "I can try."

"I can too," Miles said. Miles fell to his knees in front of the twins and pulled his siblings into a hug. "You too, Frankie?"

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Can you stop hating yourself?"

"I don't," she began, but couldn't finish the sentence.

"I know that you jump between guys and jobs because you don't feel like you're good enough. But you're the best. Our father made us all hate ourselves and fight each other. But that's wrong. As long as we have each other we are strong."

Their hug tightened.

Frankie was crying now as the alcohol overcame her inhibitions to be the big sister despite her age for her hurt brothers. There had always been something wrong with her, but she could never place it until Miles put it into words. All three of them shared the same problem and they could work together to fix it.

* * *

 _Reminder that this story has advanced and primary posting on a03._


	5. The State of Things V

**The State of Things V**

Miles awoke groggy the next morning. The drugs tended to do that to him. As he planned, he had remained strong for his siblings last night as they finally talked about the problems that had been hanging over their heads for ten years. Then he downed some pills and flopped into bed to prevent him from those infamous hours of being stuck in his own thoughts while sleep eluded him. Sadly, he was not among the lucky ones to wake up fit as fiddle from sleep medication, but it was well worth the consequences considering the thoughts that often haunted his mind before sleep.

Memories came rolling back to him as he saw his surroundings. It was the room of his childhood which he had severed ties with long ago. It was surprisingly similar to how he had left it though hardly surprising as his family had enough rooms in their house to have no use for his. It was remarkably spotless though considering the years, and a smile tugged at his lips when he thought that his mother most have gone out of her way to make sure it was clean before he got home. Or perhaps she just sent the maid. A part of him wanted to convince himself that she had done it herself.

A sigh of ecstasy left his lips as he slipped out of bed and his toes met the soft fur of his favorite rug. After taking a moment to bask in the pleasure of the fur on the arcs of his feet, he stood up to leave his room and head for a shower. In the hall, he smelled the pleasant scent of breakfast throughout the house. He couldn't remember the last time that his mother had prepared breakfast and his lack of recollection was due to more than time. As he and his siblings got older, the frequency at which she prepared breakfast had declined rapidly to the point where she only ever made it for the twins' birthday. Back then he had pretended it didn't bother him as he preferred the basic pop-tart and coffee breakfast anyway, but thinking back on it that fact was a slap in the face.

His stomach growled at him, the pizza long forgotten, but he stopped himself from heading to the kitchen. Shower first. Shower always first in the morning to make the early hours a bit more bearable. The old days of being the surprisingly perky, early-bird Miles were long gone.

It was a quick shower yet he savored every moment of it. He felt more alive as he stepped out of the warmth and into the chill of the bathroom to retrieve a towel from the bathroom's closet. He smiled with nostalgia as the little details were still there. Plus, he was grateful that it was stocked as he had been too groggy to think about bringing one with him. After drying off some of the dampness, he returned to his room to throw on a fresh pair of clothes from his suitcases that he had retrieved from Frankie's car last night after dinner.

His style had changed a little since he had last lived at home. His outfits were a little less preppy now, though he always looked nice. One big change was he was more than happy to walk around the house in sweatpants; a thing that hadn't changed at all was his love of blue.

He threw on a navy t-shirt and grey sweats and kicked on his Chewbacca slippers before heading out. He threw a look at the mirror on his door on the way out and flicked his brown locks with his fingers. Perfect. A little messy but it would dry in the oh-so-sexy way that made more than one past lover's knees weak. _It is getting a little long though,_ he thought as he followed the scent of breakfast. _Maybe I should join Hunter in that hair cut tomorrow._

The walk felt longer than it really was as his stomach growled with famish. His nerves were also tingling with the thought of seeing his mother after all these years. Seeing his siblings had been easy. He had always loved them and wanted to reconcile with them. But with his mother, it was different. He loved her and felt that he owed it to her to be here after all this time. But a part of him couldn't shake the anger he felt at her for taking back his father. How could he trust a person who loved the one who used him as a punching bag more than him?

Trust. That was it. One of the reasons he had to leave and never come back. He couldn't trust her to care about him in the way that a mother should; and he hated himself for not being the person his siblings could trust. But if they gave him a second chance, did he not owe it to their mother as well?

"Morning," he greeted as he entered the kitchen and pulled out a bar stool next to the counter by his sister. "Where's Hunter?"

And then he was captured in a hug by his mother. He was surprised by the strength that his aging mother could put into a hug and his stomach twisted as he smelled his mother's fragrance. Memories and feelings came rushing back tenfold compared to everything he had experienced so far since being home. Feelings of love and warmth dating back to before his first memories overwhelmed him. He blinked back tears and embraced her back, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves and a fresh dose of feelings overtook him.

"Oh, Miles!" his mother exclaimed as she buried her face in his neck. "I missed you so much!"

Miles enjoyed the hug for a moment before replying, his voice breaking ever-so slightly. "I… I missed you too, Mom."

"Don't you ever leave me for so long again. Let's make everything right," she said as she backed away, wiping happy tears from her eyes.

"I intend on it," Miles replied. He smiled at how giddy his mother was. How could he be mad at someone who was so happy to see him?

A grin was splitting his mother's face as she brought three plates to the bar counter that he and Frankie sat at. Miles looked at her and she looked so happy too. It was comforting to feel so wanted.

"Just three plates?" he asked as his mother flopped down chocolate chip pancakes on each.

Frankie laughed as their mother took a seat beside Miles and passed him the syrup. "It's only like 8:40, Miles," she said. "Hunter is never up this early, especially after raid night."

"Ah," Miles acknowledged as their mother shook her head in disapproval at her youngest son's behavior. "What is 'raid,' exactly?"

"He and a bunch of people get together to yell at each other while dying to this boss repeatedly. I never really understood it myself. I never got that far when I played Realm of Doom," his sister replied as she forked pancake into her mouth.

Miles' eyes bulged to saucers. "You played Realm of Doom?" he asked in awe.

Frankie smirked in return. "Yeah, but not for long. Don't think I ever made it past level 30. I only played as an excuse to talk to Hunter... back when he wasn't talking to anyone. Now I know why," she muttered sadly.

Their mother sighed in response. "Hunter was really hurting when you left Miles. I was so afraid of him getting lost in his games. He didn't leave his room for months. I had to drag him to school every day that term and even then he found a way to get out of classes half the time."

Miles kept quiet as he shoveled food into his mouth. He knew the real reason Hunter had hidden away in video games and it was eating him up inside. Miles had let the last ten years of his life burn away all alone - and in doing so he had ensured his brother had done the same.

Frankie placed a hand on his shoulder. She always knew what he was thinking, especially after last night. He smiled in return. At least Hunter had had Frankie to care about him. The thought of what Hunter would be like without his twin terrified him.

"So, how is it being home so far, Miles?" his mother asked tentatively.

"It's... nice. Weird, but nice. Good weird," he replied. "I forgot what it's like to have a place to call home. All the little things being the same... it's comforting."

"I'm so glad to have you home," his mother gushed. "If only your father were here."

Miles froze at that. "I am happy just as things are."

His mother sighed and collected the plates and carried them to the sink. After a moment she turned around. "Miles, you'll have to forgive him someday."

"For what?" Miles retorted before gulping his orange juice.

"Take your pick," she said. "I did. We talked, he apologized, and we did it again and again until we were better. We love each other and it is what we had to do to stay together."

"Well, I don't love him. I don't need to forgive him." He felt himself shrink into his bar stool as she glared at him.

"Miles, forgive him. He's on his deathbed, you may never get another chance."

"As I said, I don't need or want to forgive him."

"Then do it for him. He could die, Miles!"

"He deserves nothing from me," Miles muttered coldly, returning her glare now.

"Miles..." his mother began before Frankie cut her off.

"Mom, Miles needs to deal with dad on his own terms. You can't understand what life was like for him. Dad may have cheated on you, but he respected you. He never respected us. We were just pawns in his political games." Frankie's voice was as cold as Miles' while she recalled the scandal that had opened her eyes to her father's true nature. "He was willing to destroy my reputation and my life for his career. And I was his favorite! I can't even imagine what it was like for Miles. For as long as I can remember Dad was always overly critical of him. Miles was never happy. And when he fought back for the love he deserved, dad hit him. Repeatedly. And you invited him right back as soon as he apologized. It destroyed Miles. He almost killed himself so don't go telling him that he owes dad anything."

Both Miles and his mother were in shock. Frankie was usually so soft spoken but occasionally she struck out to remind the world she had a mind of her own. Those moments were never forgotten. He was proud of her for her strength and for her intelligence. A smile crossed his lips as he was reminded of the day of the fire when she called out his father and joined him in demanding his respect.

He could only nod gratefully at her as he couldn't formulate any words that would mean anything.

His mother was silent for a moment before speaking. "I know it was hard for you, Miles. And I never forgave him for how he treated you. All of us. But he's your father. You don't want to hate him for the rest of your life."

"I don't hate him," Miles replied slowly as his the gears turned in his head. "I just want to forget him." _Because I'm afraid of what he does to me. Because I'm afraid that I will turn out exactly like him._

His mother nodded. She would take what she could get. "Are you still going to see him today?"

Miles nodded. He had agreed to see him, if only once more. Still, he couldn't help but ask weakly. "Are the two of you coming?"

"Nope," Frankie answered. "I have work in an hour."

He looked to his mother who shook her head. "You need to do this alone. The last time the two of you spoke alone you proved yourself better than him by refusing to hit him for what he did to you and Hunter. I want you to be there without me. I want you to prove to yourself that you are better than him."

Miles nodded. Maybe this would be for the best. As a writer he knew that a character grows when he faces his fears. Maybe that would happen for him. On the other hand, the alternative is that he fails and the fear overcomes him.

After ten years of running from the fear, he wasn't sure he could beat it.


	6. The State of Things VI

_Two chapters have been uploaded._

* * *

 **The State of Things VI**

It felt good to be back in his Mustang. It was black as night yet its metal shined with the brilliance of the sun. It was ten years old now so it was nothing spectacular, but it was his car. His first car. It represented the freedom and the good times that he had. Thoughts of what he and Tristan had done in the back seat always brought a smile to his face. Yeah, this car was full of his best memories.

The fact that his father had bought it to make up for the first time he had turned his abuse physical was a fact he tried to forget.

He took deep breaths as he drove, fingers tightening and loosening around the steering wheel as his heart pounded. He had spent ten years running from his father and now here he was going right back into his clutches willingly. He counted down the minutes in his mind. He knew the hospital was 15 minutes from his home and he drove as slowly as possible to save himself from the storm of emotions that raged inside of him.

Being back on these road brought back all sorts of memories. Driving had been an adventure to a younger him. It was his first step into adulthood and he had savored it. It was the first symbol of escape from his father that he had. Whenever he had been mad at his dad he would head out and just drive around to chill - weed was only occasionally involved. The best trips included Tristan in the passenger seat as they sang along to whatever song played on the radio.

A smile broke across his face as he recalled Tristan's love for Lady Gaga. Miles had liked the former singer now actor well enough, but back then he had been more eager to hold back on his more stereotypical gay impulses. It was unusual for him to hold back on any impulse; impulsiveness was his trait after all. It clashed with his 'wise words' to Frankie about living your life without worrying about what others thought. Only later did he realize that fear of his father had made him hold back. Never again though. He would never let anyone change who he was, especially not _him_.

Before he knew it he was pulling into the parking lot of the hospital. He wasn't ready. A chill overcame him as he walked through the front entrance of the hospital. On one hand it was normal as hospitals made many feel weird. The cleanliness, the sadness, the stench of death. Some people couldn't handle it. However, it was something Miles was fine with. What made a chill run down his spine and his skin prickle with ice was the fact that the last time he was in this building he had almost died and wished it had happened.

It wasn't his only overdose, but it had been the most frightening by far. He still remembered looking at his mom and telling her she would be happier if he had died. She didn't say it as she rarely did, but the look in her eyes told him that she loved him. It had saved him from the brink of suicide, if barely. It hadn't made her care enough to get rid of his father though. She must not have loved him enough if she didn't dump the man that drove him to drugs. That hurt would never fade.

And neither would the hurt inflicted by his father.

He was outside his door now. Room 263, his mother had informed him before he left the house. He still wasn't ready. His breathing was picking up and he had to rest against the wall outside the door for support. He wouldn't put himself through this. He needed more time.

So he turned around and left with his heart aflutter.

Fifteen minutes later he was in the cafeteria of the hospital with a large cup of coffee. He wasn't going to run away from this. He would talk to his father. It just wouldn't be this moment. Or the next. And probably not the one after that.

"That'll be $2.95," he heard the cashier say, and Miles shook his head to shake himself back into awareness. "Ah, sorry. I was lost in thought."

The guy was kind of cute. He was blonde and had a soft face and looked a little younger than him. If his voice were a little less deep he would have reminded him of Tristan - though the very fact that he noticed his voice was deeper than Tristan's was being reminded of him. He had been thinking of Tristan a lot lately. More in the last 24 hours than he had in the last year.

Miles smiled at the younger man. He owed someone with the likeness of Tristan that much. "Can I add a small vanilla ice cream to that... uh, John?" he asked, spying the blonde's name tag. He nodded affirmation as he added the price.

"Ice cream," John mused. "I'm sorry for your loss."

Miles raised an eyebrow at that. "Oh, no one died," he apologized. "I kind of wish he would though... I mean... well, there's really no way to recover from that one," he added weakly, shame filling him at his slip up.

John laughed. "It's fine. Honestly, it's refreshing to see people not always so sad about their family in the hospital... well, if he is family. Sometimes it's nice to see people showing real emotion instead of the facade we put on to appear socially acceptable."

"You know what, John-The-Cashier, I like you," Miles said, throwing him a wink.

"You're not so bad yourself," John returned with a wink of his own. After a moment of silence, he continued. "Together, that will be $5.14."

Miles nodded, handing him a twenty. "Keep the change," he said. "It's not every day you meet someone who understands... uh... well who understands."

John nodded gratefully as he processed the cash before handing Miles his cone. Miles nodded and left to find a seat.

Miles was nipping at his ice cream cone when John came by his table. Miles looked up at him inquisitively.

"Mind if I join you?" the younger guy asked. "It's kind of dead today so I got an early lunch break."

Miles looked around and saw only one other group in the caf - an elderly couple and someone who was more than likely their granddaughter. The writer in him imagined they were taking care of the girl as her mother was in the hospital. He shook the depressing thought from his mind.

Miles nodded to John as he gestured to an empty seat. "Feel free."

John took a seat and Miles stared at him intently as he ate his ice cream. After some silence, Miles broke the ice. "So, tell me, what inspired your little speech about facades and social acceptability?"

John grinned in return. "Well being in the hospital all the time you see people exaggerating their emotions in order to look like they feel bad. It's quite obvious once you look. The difference between those who really fear the loss of those they love and those who are just acting - or, worse yet, those who are only concerned with themselves."

Miles nodded. "That's deep. Reminds me of this time back in high school where I spoke about how people ask how we're doing. But they don't really want to know. They want us to pretend we're fine so they don't have to see what's below the surface."

"I can see the similarities," John agreed, the he got a glint in his eyes. "So, high school, huh? How long ago was this?"

Miles laughed kind-heartedly. "Ten years ago. I'm a bit too old for you, kid."

"Maybe," John jested with a smirk.

"I'm guessing you're a freshmen in college?" Miles asked.

"Sophomore," John corrected. "Theater and English double major."

Miles nodded. "I assumed on the theater bit," and then he added after John raised his eyebrow. "You remind me of a friend from high school. He always wanted to act."

More silence followed.

"So, are you okay?" John asked. "Like real, underneath the surface stuff."

"Probably not," Miles replied. "I have to go see my dad for the first time in ten years. I'm not ready."

"Ah," John replied and pieces clicked. "I thought you looked familiar. You're Miles Hollingsworth. I heard the former Mayor was in the hospital. You fit the bill for the lost eldest son the news talked so much about a few years back."

Miles laughed with mirth. "That would be me. It's a bit concerning that the news kept talking about me after I left."

"Shit happens," John agreed. "Well, if you're dead set on seeing him it's probably best not to put it off."

Miles nodded. "Don't follow my example," he said.

"What?"

Miles smirked as he pulled out some pills and downed them with coffee.

"Drugs?"

"You could say that," Miles said. "They're prescribed, but don't rely on them like I've done. I've lost so much from drugs."

"You've done more than whatever these pills are I take it?"

"Yeppppp," Miles exasperated. "These are just anti-anxiety meds, nothing too crazy. Though I probably shouldn't have taken them with coffee."

"Probably not the best idea," John agreed. "I also question your choice of ice cream and coffee."

"Probably so," Miles laughed as he finished his cone and then stood up. "Well, John, it was nice meeting you. But these meds are fast acting and I want to go ahead and get this over with. Thanks for the talk."

"It was fun," John agreed. "Wait, would you be interested in trading numbers?"

Miles smiled, but shook his head. "I'm not a good guy, John. You're better off without me."

"I'm sure you're not that bad," John teased.

"I'm dangerous. In so many ways."

Then Miles left and dumped his trash in the waste bin, and then headed back to his father's room. He took the stairs to make the trip longer so he could delay it further, and pray the meds took affect all that much quicker. Plus, he had no desire to be stuck in an elevator with random people who were trying to cope with their own problems. Sooner than he knew he was in front of the door again. This time he wouldn't let himself run away from his problems.

* * *

He walked in unceremoniously and just looked at him. They made eye contact and could only stare. Miles shut the door behind him. Whatever was about to happen had to be between the two of them.

His father's lips spread in a smile as he approached. "Miles! Come give your old man a hug."

Miles looked at him. "I'm not ready for that," he said. "When was the last time we hugged anyway?"

It was at the golf course when his father pretended to accept his 'gay' son for publicity. Self-serving bastard. It was that day where any hope in his father died. It only got worse that afternoon the first time his father hurt him.

His father sighed and shook his head. "I understand, Miles. I'll admit it. I was an awful father to you. I'm sorry."

Miles blinked. It couldn't be that easy. His father would never make it that easy. He had to have something planned. "You think it's going to be that easy?" Miles asked. "You think you can just say 'I'm sorry' and I'll forgive you? That it'll fix us? That it'll fix me?"

His father laid in his bed as he mulled over his words. "No. It won't fix anything. I'm just telling you how I feel. I'm trying, Miles. I'm communicating. I know we may never be fixed. I screwed us up. But, Miles," he said, reaching out to his son with frail a hand only to be shrugged off. "Miles. I can't fix you because you're not broken."

Miles laughed. Straight up laughed out loud. "I'm not broken? I almost killed myself by overdosing to be in the same city as you. I've been on drugs for years just so I can live a day without hating myself for being just like you. I'm broken. And the only way I can fix myself is overcoming everything you've done to me."

His father nodded. "Yes, Miles. Hate me if you must, I just want you to be happy. It's all I've ever wanted for you since you were born. I remember that day, in this very hospital, when you were born. I was so happy. You were my little boy. I remember holding you and thinking that I was going to show you the world. But I failed you. I let my aspirations for a career get the best of me. When my term was up two years ago, I looked back - and realized none of it was worth it. I lost you, my son. Your siblings always held it against me for your leaving. Your mother too, though she never said it. I'm sorry, Miles. I'm so, so sorry."

"I don't know what to say," Miles said as he turned around to approach the door, but changed his mind. "Actually, I do. Let's pretend that's all true. That you _loved_ me. How do you explain how everything changed as soon as I started dating Tristan?"

"I'll admit, Miles, that I was upset about that. First I thought you were just doing it to anger me and ruin my career. So yes, I countered that to turn it into a plus for my campaign. But I eventually realized that you really were… well you really were into him."

"Can't even say it, can you? Bi. Bisexual. Though I guess it's the gay part that you can't stand. That's just the thing. You claim to love me but you can't even talk about an intrinsic part of me that I was born with. Most people don't even care about that these days and you can't even talk about it."

"Miles, you have to understand. I grew up in a time where people like you..." his father paused for a moment. "Gay men… died left and right to AIDS. Can you really blame me for not wanting a son who does that kind of stuff?"

"Please," Miles mocked. "It was the middle of the fucking 2010s. People survived all the time from it back then. Get a better excuse. It was just … it was everything I did. You hated me for everything."

"Miles, Miles," he father tried to soothe. "Is it so hard to belief I cared about your safety? I loved you. I wanted you to be alive and healthy and somewhere along the way I forgot to show you that I loved you as a person." He paused a moment before continuing. "After I got over the fact you were… kissing a guy to get back at me, I just wanted to make sure you were safe. I couldn't live with myself if you died and I could have prevented it."

Miles laughed at the irony. "So you hated Tristan because you thought he'd 'give' me AIDS? Sure, whatever. That shouldn't have been your concern… for several reasons. All I needed was a family to feel safe with – and you chased me away!"

"I'm sorry, Miles. Truly. I'm just happy you're here now. I didn't think you would come. I'm so happy to see you alive and healthy and… happier I hope."

"Not hard to be happier when I spent the last decade without you."

The elder man sighed. "But I guess since you're here, you've forgiven me at least a little. You're putting your family first in a way that I never could. You really are the better man. I would never ask you for this, but it was your mother's idea."

Miles frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well, if you're here I assumed you were going through with your mother's plan."

Miles heart froze. "What plan?"

His father blinked. "She didn't tell you? About the kidney?"

The gears in Miles head turned as he replied. "Kidney? She said you had a heart attack."

"Well, that's not false," his father replied. "But the real reason I'm here is kidney failure. Basic aging stuff. I told you mother not to do it, that I didn't deserve it. But she wanted to check," he was quiet for a moment before he spoke the words that crushed all the happiness Miles had felt for the last day. "She wanted to have you come and check to see if you are a compatible donor. Neither of the twins are."

Miles' face twisted in anger, disgust, and most of all disappointment. Disappointment in his parents. Disappointment in his hopes for everything to work out this time. But most of all, disappointment in himself for falling for it again. It was the golf trip to the country club all over again. He was lured in by his father, convinced that he was finally, finally loved, and then he was used.

Miles felt his lips grate against his teeth as he bit at them struggling to form words.

"Miles?" his father asked. "Are you okay?"

"Fuck you," was all Miles could manage. "I hate you. I hate you so fucking much I can't even… I can't even think right now!" he yelled, throwing his hands into the air.

And then he started laughing. "It's funny, you know. Hilarious actually!" he mocked as he glared at his father, lips bursting with laughter. "You were _soooo_ concerned about my 'safety' at the thought of me being gay that you're the cause of your own fear! And it wasn't even from a guy!"

Miles sneered through his laughter as his father's face twisted in guilt.

"Oh?" Miles mocked. "You're smarter than you look if you jumped to conclusions already. Yes, _father_ , I got HIV from a woman. Whether from the fucking or from the heroin we shot up is up for question. You see, don't you, that the drugs I had to use to forget about you are why I'm going to die one day. Though, I guess you should count yourself lucky that I had no permanent side effects from the drugs."

"Miles," his father started to say as he reached a hand towards his son.

Miles forced it away with enough force to make his father grimace and he stood over him looking down. "I hate you. I fucking hate you," he intoned. "I can't give you my kidney because of what you did to me. You. It's your fault. Everything is your fault! Not that I would give it to you if I could. Just…"

Miles was at a loss for words. He couldn't think of anything else so he just yelled. "FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!" he screamed to the air before looking at his father. "FUCK YOU!"

His eyes darted to the IV stand and he thrusted it towards the bed. "FUCK THIS," he screamed. He saw a plant on the table next to him, and it took every bit of will power that he had not to pick it up and throw it a his father. But he recalled the day that his father had hit him in front of Hunter. He wouldn't stoop as low as his father; not now, not ever.

"What is going on in here," he heard a nurse scream at the door.

"Nothing," Miles muttered as he walked out the door and into the hall. He sped to a sprint as he headed towards the stairwell he had used earlier and dashed down the first half-flight of stair before resting his head on the wall. It was pleasantly cold compared to the heat of his head and he kicked it with full force.

Pain shot up his leg and he kept muttering, "Fuck, fuck, fuck," under his breath. He was crying now that he could. He wouldn't let his father see it.

He had fallen for it again. The false promise of love from his parents. In a matter of minutes he had reverted to his 16 year-old self. Sad, lonely and desperate for his parents' love.

He hadn't really changed at all.

 _End of Part 1_


End file.
